


Naked

by mrstater



Category: Chalion Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Flashback, Flogging, Marriage, Nudity, Romance, Sex, Slavery, Torture, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cazaril's past associations with nudity threaten to interfere with his wedding night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 April Flowers challenge at the Chalion-Ibra LJ community.

The silk of Betriz's wedding gown sings against her skin as it slips down her body and pools softly on the floor at her feet. She reaches for Caz, he assumes for balance as she steps out of the crumpled folds of the dress, but instead of grasping his forearms her fingers close around one of the gilt and mother of pearl frogs of his tunic.

His stomach cinches inward with his sharp intake of breath--

 _"Too slow!" shouts the Roknari oar master, cracking his whip across the trembling fingers that were so carefully unfastening his tunic before ripping off the garment himself. The iron tang of blood fills Cazaril's mouth as he bites down on his tongue to stop his protest against the rending of the dirty but otherwise fine tunic. The frogs, engraved with the seal of the Order of the Daughter, rain down around them as Cazaril is forcibly stripped of his clothing by the jeering guard who mocks him in vile Roknari: "Not so fancy where you're going now, filth!"_

\--and instinctively he drops his gaze.

But Betriz's dark eyes catch his, holding them as she unfastens the frogs, one by one, taking as much care and pleasure from removing his outer garment as he did from divesting her of her gown. Caz cannot help but return her smile, and the ugly memory recedes as he allows himself to relax into the loving touch of _his wife_ and enjoy the newfound intimacy allowed them by their married status.

He draws her against him once his tunic couples on the floor with her gown, appreciating the closeness afforded by this first barrier being removed from between them.

Little is hidden by the remaining layers of his fine linen shirt and her summer weight cotton shift. Her body infuses both the fabrics with warmth; the stiff boning of her stays emphasizes the swell of her breasts above the embroidered neckline of her under-dress. Wishing very much for his hands to do the work of those stays, Caz slides his fingers from the soft, bare skin of her arm round to the tantalizing curve in the base of her back where the laces of the foundation garment rest.

Betriz's bosom grows a little fuller with her deeply indrawn breath, and the pretty flush that blooms on her fair skin, spreading up her neck and into her cheeks like delicate flowers blossoming across a meadow only encourages his efforts at unlacing her stays. Hers is not the only clothing bound by laces, and she reaches out, again, this time for the cord that pulls Caz's shirt closed at the neck.

His fingers falter--

 _"You will oblige His Majesty by removing your tunic and turning around," dy Jironal says in his serpentine tones. Dy Jironal, playing the role of the betrayer once again with the revolting accusation of rape, against which Cazaril is helpless except to bare his back and suffer the humiliating scrutiny of Roya Orico, who believes Cazaril capable of that evil, and the Royesse Iselle, who does not, but whose reaction to the ropes of scars is no less horrified. Betriz, too, enters Orico's council chamber, and sees, and gasps, and completes Cazaril's shame._

\--with the concentrated effort required for him not to recoil from her advance.

But she holds him to the spot, her hands slipping inside the now open neck of his shirt to rest upon his bare shoulders. She knows his innocence, never doubted it then and certainly would not have chosen him to bind herself in marriage if she doubted it now. Those who did--Orico, the boy at the bath in Valenda and the bathkeper--and dy Jironal and Dondo who would sow seeds of doubt, all slip from Caz's thoughts as he bends his head to claim his bride's lips with a passion fueled by the new thought that her horror is on behalf of his innocence and gods help his abusers if ever they should cross _her_ path.

It seems imperative, suddenly, to demonstrate his gratitude for the unwavering, unconditional love she bestows on him, so, without breaking their kiss he shrugs off his shirt and, with a little delighted assistance from his eager bride, makes quick work of Betriz's stays and shift.

So taken he is with her gloriously nude form that not until his eyes sweep upward over her does he note that her shoulders are slightly rounded, not held back in her usual confident posture. For a moment he stands still, surprised and amused that of the two of them _she_ is the one demonstrating insecurity in her nakedness. He brushes back the dark, curling tendrils that cascade over her breasts, allowing his thumbs to stroke the pink nipples which harden at his touch, as does a particular bit of his own anatomy as he does the touching, and then he slides one hand up to her chin, tilting it up so that her eyes meet his.

"You, my lady, are a goddess."

Instantly she dimples, and a mischievous gleam replaces the uncertainty that veiled her eyes only seconds before.

"I should like to even the score, husband," she says, and her hands dart downward and find the waist of his trews.

Though keenly aware that they have grown uncomfortably tight, he catches Betriz's wrists--

 _His own undignified wails fill his ears as he hangs lashed to the mainsail, naked before his tormentors and their foes. Of all he has suffered as a slave of the galleys, he never conceived of being so vulnerable as this, displayed like the criminal, like a man to be executed for the vilest of sins, broken, mutilated, utterly helpless against the elements and the archers and his own utter shame._

\--to stop her insistent tugging at his trousers.

But just as quickly he releases her, and pulls his trews down over his hips and buttocks himself, kicking them aside with their other cast-off clothes.

He stands before her, for a heartbeat. Then, he opens his arms to her, and she presses herself, _all_ of herself, against all of him.

Cazaril is naked, and he is not ashamed.


End file.
